


Left to my own devices

by stamets



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Transphobia, Trans!Hardy, Transphobia, here's another therapy fic, more angsty this time, will probably add darker tags and warnings as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stamets/pseuds/stamets
Summary: “I’m not feeling well, I can’t come in to work today.”-“You’re never sick, what happened?”





	Left to my own devices

Nothing yet. He turned his head up to look at the clock. She would normally be home in five minutes. Everything was normal. Five minutes for her to come home. And then maybe five more to account for delays. He grabbed at the bowl of sunflower seeds on the coffee table to his side and put a handful in his mouth, chewing on them fiercely.

Breathe. She’ll be there. The absence of sound in the house suddenly became acutely clear – his loud inhaling and exhaling now drowning out every sound that would have been if she’d been there.

Three minutes to six. He folded his hands, massaging them roughly to distract him. His chest felt tight, like his lungs were being compressed, and he could feel a sharp pain in his back. Not now, not right now, _please_. He abruptly stood up to pace around, and lifted his arms in a long stretch to alleviate the pain. It worked, for a few seconds.

He rolled his shoulders and flapped his arms back and forth trying to give his chest more room. He briefly contemplated taking off his binder; after all, he’d been wearing it for days, and it was clearly doing more harm than good at this point. But it was six now, and he couldn’t risk missing her.

She’d be there. It’s normal for people for be late. Tess had definitely been late many times over the past fifteen years they were married. In fact, why had he assumed she’d be home at six? Maybe something had come up. Was her schedule still the same as he thought it was? Had he not been paying enough attention to her to know this?

Stumbling to the family agenda, he noticed the half-shredded piece of paper that was pinned on the fridge with a magnet. It was a drawing Daisy made when she was five. It had yellowed and was torn from multiple incidents, but they’d kept it nonetheless. Daisy. Daisy was the only reason he still had hope that Tess would return.

He traced the handwritten ‘home: 6 p.m.’ on the open page of the agenda. Tess’s schedule hadn’t changed - he’d been doubting himself for no reason. His eyes shifted to the column that said ‘Alice’. He hadn’t been able to write in it for weeks. He could recall that first time calling in sick to work like it happened just now:

“I’m not feeling well, I can’t come in to work today.”

–“You’re never sick, what happened?”

“Just under the weather. Not sure what it is.”

-“Alright. Well, take care Alice.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

That moment had been haunting him ever since. He suddenly realized his nails were making little cliffs in his palms as he balled them together in a fist.

“Fuuuuuck.” He groaned, throwing his head backwards. He clenched his teeth until his jaw started to hurt.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. Then, a bit louder, “it’s going to be okay.” He couldn’t bring himself to fully say it out loud.

Ten past six. She wasn’t coming. He stood still, as in a trance, and stared and the door. She wasn’t coming anymore. He’d fucked it up. Fucked _them_ up. And Daisy wasn’t coming back either.

Before he knew it, he’d sunken to the ground. Crouched down in heartwrenching pain, he let his body be taken by the gravitational black hole. He covered his face with his arms. Maybe he was trying to suffocate himself- maybe he was just trying to hide from the Outside- he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that something, somewhere, had gone horribly wrong, and there was no way of fixing it.

_“I’m not feeling well, I can’t come in to work today.”_

-_“you’re never sick, what happened?”_

Everything. Nothing, He didn’t know. He’d been sick for as long as he could remember. Now that he thought of it, his entire life was a mistake. He simply wasn’t built for the world he was in. He’d gotten a job, married, adopted, then lost it all in a heartbeat. But he knew that if he had said those words twenty years ago, he would never have had any of those things in the first place. That was the world he lived in- harsh like that, to people like him.

“Stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” he mumbled, holding his hands in front of him like a mirror.

_“I’m not feeling well, I can’t come in to work today.”_

-_“you’re never sick, what happened?”_

“I couldn’t do it anymore!” A cry escaped him. “I’m so sorry, Tess, _I’m so sorry_. I tried living like this as long as I could, I promise. But it was so, completely, exhausting, and I just-. Please, forgive me. I did all I could.”

Unlike a large part of his life, that wasn’t a lie. He had tried so hard every day, pretending to be someone he was not, until he was physically and mentally completely and utterly exhausted. Calling in sick had also not been a lie; he was sick of being held back, of avoiding mirrors and still knowing subconsciously that the way he looked was wrong in every sense. Of being ashamed of his voice, and of being introduced as Alice.

After that phone call he’d stayed home. His dysphoria grew worse by the day it seemed. Of course, he hadn’t been able to hide it anymore. She’d asked, he’d told, she’d left. And she hadn’t come back.

Had it been worth it? The life he had built on top of his denial – the life that was now collapsing as though it was hit by an earthquake? Could he have had this kind of life if he’d been able to say that he was a man years ago? Of course, he didn’t know the answers. All he knew right now was that despite the intense pain of knowing his family would never accept him now, he felt incredibly and purely relieved. Telling somebody, no matter the consequences, had simply been necessary. He couldn’t have lived another day without telling the person he loved most the thing he had been keeping a secret his entire life.

As though through a sudden urge, he quickly stood up. Little stars dangled in front of his eyelids, and his head spun. But he now had a purpose – to leave this damned place. He couldn’t ever set foot here again, where everything had gone wrong so badly. They didn’t want him here anymore anyway. This town was rotten with memories that were once rosy. Sure, only Tess and Daisy knew about him being trans, but the risk was too big that they told anyone else. He had to run, now.

He didn’t care about grabbing anything except for his car keys and wallet as he half-stumbled, half-sprinted out of the house. His binder didn’t let him go far, he could barely reach the side of the car before he collapsed against its door and let out a high-pitched scream in agony. Furiously fumbling with his shirt, he managed to pull it over his head to reveal the nude-coloured binder. His skin around the edges was irritable and red. He anxiously tried to stretch it, to pull it over his head, but he had never done this before and got stuck before he knew it.

Suddenly extremely self-conscious about being outside in public with his boobs out, he quickly opened the car door and slid inside. After about twenty more tries and a panic attack, he gave up. Coughing, he tried to get as much air as he could as he started the car and drove away in a hurry. He just followed the road to whichever direction he thought of first. Maybe he’d go to the coast. He’d been there often, as a child. Before puberty had come along and had ruined his body. So, slowly passing out, he took the exit to Broadchurch.


End file.
